


An account by a dead boy

by arequipenby



Category: Avoneg/Personal Fandom
Genre: LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Poetry, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 02:19:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8268986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arequipenby/pseuds/arequipenby
Summary: A simple poem I wrote for a school competition based around the question "Are we all equal?".





	

**Author's Note:**

> i got emotional so many times while writing this.....anyway, enjoy!

Limbs tangled under bed sheets,  
Soft breaths mingling between our bruised lips.  
_His_ calloused fingers trace circles on my back, light and delicate like feathers;  
“my love”, _He_ whispers soothingly, “my love, my love, my love”

 

In those delicate times before dawn, where the sky tints orange;  
In the pleasant comfort of our warm and beating hearts,  
I love _Him_ , I love myself, and _He_ loves me.  
I’m not a dead boy, yet

 

In those times where they spit words tangled with ribbons of disgust,  
where they wrap around my neck and slice into my tender skin, my throat burns,  
and my eyes water as they laugh, jokingly  
_Jokingly_ , I stay quiet. Their words seared into my skin, marks of oppression and hate.  
Oh, am I a dying boy?

 

They whisper to their friend, disgust and amusement colouring the pinkness of their voice,  
And my teeth sink into my tongue, my words turn into oozing blood as I swallow them down and soon I’m choking on them,  
On my unspoken words and on the thick blood clogging up my throat and I turn and flee  
and I realise I’m a dying boy and I-

 

_His_ eyes are kind, _His_ eyes shine and guide me through this difficult life.  
_His_ touch is soft, _His_ touch soothes me and calms the storm raging within me.  
_His_ voice is pure honey, sweet and natural, coloured only with love and care for my future.  
It’s such a shame that _they_ would all rather see me dead, isn’t it?

 

_It’s such a shame that I’m a dead boy_

“my love”, I hear _Him_ choke out, lowering lilies onto my grave, “my love, my love, my love”


End file.
